The Best Birthday Gift
by Morning Dew
Summary: One-Shot Birthday Fic! Spot's worked so hard to remain indifferent and keep himself from falling too deeply in love, but on the verge of losing someone he cares about, will he be able to lay down his pride and follow his heart?


DISCLAIMER: It's my birthday! Can't I own the Newsies for one day? No? Ugh, fine. The newsies belong to Disney and only the original characters in this story belong to me. Dimples, Angel, and Apollonia own themselves.  
  
A.N.: Okay, so this is just a one-shot fic that I wanted to write for my birthday featuring my favorite newsie, Spot, *huggles Spot*, alongside my favorite original character, Runner. It's fairly short, unlike my usual style, so enjoy and please review!  
  
DeDiCaTeD tO: All the people with whom I share this birthday! Have a wonderful day, keep on trucking, and God bless! ^_^  
  
*~The Best Birthday Gift~*  
  
It was the best birthday party Dewey could have ever had. All the friends she had made in New York since she first arrived in the state with only her twin brother as her companion filled the seats of Irving Hall with wide grins and joyful expressions that wished her blessings and the acquisition of all her dreams with sincere hearts. In the balcony, newsies and factory workers from Staten Island and the Bronx waved colorfully- painted banners signed by each from their brood and threw confetti onto the first floor, showering those below with the paper sprinkles.  
  
At a center table nearest the performing stage, Dewey sat with seven of her closest friends, laughing the night away and enjoying the entertainment she constantly found in their company. Around the table one could find the faces of Jack Kelly and the gorgeous Apollonia, who were just starting out a wonderful relationship together; the ever-cheerful Dimples with her long-time beau Slick; Brooklyn's tough doll Angel and her fiancé Blink; and lastly, Runner, younger cousin to the respectable leader of Brooklyn, Spot Conlon himself.  
  
A quintet of cabaret showgirls with the beloved Medda at the center of their kick-line had just finished singing "Happy Birthday" to Dewey and now the working youths of New York sat back and relaxed, catching up on old memories and eating away the chocolate cake Tibby's had provided the newsies at no charge, the restaurant owner's special gift to the girl.  
  
Dewey's wild mass of curls was loose today under the beige derby hat she adored so much. To celebrate her big day, she was wearing a gold peasant blouse that was much too big a size when she had first received it one Christmas morning but that now fit perfectly and a beautiful crème- colored skirt that flowed past her ankles like a queen's garb blowing in the wind. Though her face always mirrored moods of happiness and optimism, today she looked especially bright, her cheeks red by natural blush and her chocolate brown eyes sparkling like caravan treasures.  
  
She felt as if she were soaring over rooftops and meadows and all the masses that populated the almighty state of New York, so great was her exuberance and so high her spirits. She saw her brother across the way, then, and with a smile she waved at him, remembering how protective he had once been when she became a peddler for the morning and afternoon editions that circulated throughout the boroughs. He mouthed "Having fun?" to her and she nodded her head, her smile widening into a grin.  
  
How could she not be having fun? Things were rolling incredibly smooth for once and she wasn't one to worry her head and pick out the minutest fault concerning the night. Although...Spot had yet to show up at Irving Hall. She hadn't seen the Brooklyn leader since early that morning when they had purchased their papers from the distribution center and that was well over twelve hours ago! She wondered where he could possibly be, but her thoughts became scattered when Runner spit out the soda pop he was drinking and let out a hysterical laugh in response to a joke Jack had been telling.  
  
Runner's emerald green eyes shed tears of mirth and he wiped away at them with one hand while his other held his stomach firmly, which was now experiencing pain from all the chuckling. Noticing his drink spewing across the fabric of the dining table, he threw a napkin down quick and turned to Dewey on his left. "Did I wet youse, goil?"  
  
"No," Dewey laughed, playfully smacking the back of his head. Runner had been a mischievous little joker since the day she had met him, and according to common word, had been as such for years before even becoming a Brooklyn newsie. He always knew how to enliven a dreary day and could always be seen planning out schemes for his next prank. Dewey loved him as a second brother. He was her confidant and always was there for her when she needed him most.  
  
"It's getting late," Jack said after awhile, once the crowds started to disperse and exhaustion fall upon him. He held out his hand to Apollonia and helped her to her feet. "Dewey, I hope youse had an awesome boithday. And I better see ya wearin' da gift I gave ya!"  
  
"Oh, jack," replied Apollonia rolling her eyes good-humoredly, "You think 'cowboy hats' are on everyone's birthday lists!" Jack shrugged with a laugh and after he and the girl had given Dewey a warm hug, they laced their fingers and walked off to the Manhattan lodging house.  
  
Runner smirked as he watched them go. "Those two is poifect together, eh? I'se waitin' for Apollonia tah tame 'er cowboy! Then we'll see who wants tah go tah Santa Fe any more." He slapped hands with Slick and Blink as all three of them snickered away.  
  
"Runnah, one of dese days, youse is gunna get ya behind kicked, and when ya do, I'll be da foist one tah laugh meself tah death!" Angel threw the boy a devilish smirk but her short-lived tease ended when Blink began tickling her, provoking uncontrollable giggles on her part. After this playfulness, the couple thought it best to be on their way as well. The time was soon reaching the midnight hour and they could already hear Kloppman's wake-up hollers at five thirty the next morning. They embraced Dewey, said their goodbye's to the others, and then headed off home.  
  
This left the four remaining Brooky's to themselves. Irving Hall was steadily emptying, for though most of New York didn't enforce a curfew, ample sleep was as dear to a newsie as his papers were. Even Dewey's brother had left, but not before giving his sister a kiss on the cheek and wishing her well. She thanked him for everything. After all, if he hadn't convinced the leader of the factory boys to meet the newsies halfway in paying for the expenses of celebrating her birthday with live entertainment, none of today's best moments would have ever occurred.  
  
The walk back to Brooklyn was a peaceful one. Dimples and Slick walked ahead by a few yards, whispering things into each other's ears and smiling adoringly at one another as couples tend to do. Dewey watched them with a longing sigh. Their relationship had been birthed during a conflict between the borough's newsboys and factory workers and had yet to be torn apart. The girl believed it never would be.  
  
Dimples was a sweetheart, and whenever she spoke of Slick it was with an unmatchable passion that delivered her into sensational bliss or a daydream in which her world with the boy was paradise. And the feelings were definitely reciprocated. Slick was even teased for his sappy dialogue when speaking with the girl. They were the type of couple others watched from afar, waiting for wedding bells to ring.  
  
Dewey was happy for them. Dimples was another one of her dearest friends. The two even wore matching 'Sister' bracelets adorned with butterfly charms to show the world how much they appreciated the other's friendship. However, seeing the girl happily trot off with her darling only filled Dewey with a bothersome pain that attacked her heart, for who did she now have to cuddle with? Where was Spot on one of the most special days of her life?  
  
Runner noticed her silence and cleared his throat nervously as he tried to think of something to say. He was very well aware of the cause of her momentary sadness. Spot hadn't attended the birthday bash; hadn't even bothered making a cameo! Runner knew his reasons, but was not at liberty to tell anyone, yet seeing the girl in such gloomy moods made his being ache. He passed a hand through his blonde hair in efforts to brush back his bangs but the locks only fell back into place perfectly, frustrating him all the more.  
  
He paused to think for a moment, and then decided that something had to be said. "Uh, Dewey," he began, "Spot really did wanna make it, but..."  
  
"You don't have to defend him Runner."  
  
"Well he's me cousin and as much of a joik as he can be sometimes, I don't want youse thinkin' he forgot or somethin' or just decided not tah show." He stopped walking and turned to face the girl, waiting until she followed suit before continuing. Her eyes were reddened and he knew that she had been holding back tears all this time. "He really cares 'bout youse, Dewey," he said so softly it almost came out in a whisper.  
  
She forced a smile and nodded, not really sure whether she believed him or not. Back at the lodging house, a few of the boys were still up playing poker or simply loafing about trying to fight against their tiredness. Some of them called out "happy birthday" to Dewey and she graciously thanked them as she ascended the staircase and made her way to the lodging house's second floor. For some reason, as she walked down the main corridor which ended at the door to Spot's room, she felt an uneasiness surface in the pit of her stomach. She didn't want to step into his quarters; she didn't want to face him and have to press the questions as to why he had chosen to cancel her party out of his agenda.  
  
The entryway to the girls' bunkroom was only a few feet behind her. Perhaps she could turn around and decide to sleep there instead. It might arouse suspicion in the others, she thought, but at least it'd save her from the discomfort of being confined to Spot's realm and having to listen to his petty excuses.  
  
In the end, she decided to face her fears. Exhaling a relaxing breath of air and holding her head up high to not appear defeated, she marched onward and swung open Spot's door with an authoritative power that surprised even her. She was taken aback upon finding the Brooklyn leader lounging on his bed, back against the headboard and feet stretched out before him. He had been reading the day's paper but rested it onto his lap when the girl came in and looked up at her with those dazzling blue eyes that pierced the flesh to gaze into the soul.  
  
Dewey caught her breath in her throat when their eyes caught. He always held that captivating control over her with a simple gaze. His irises reminded her of shimmering sapphires that seduced those who looked upon them with their enchanted spells. She closed the door behind her and stood awkwardly in place, for once unsure of how to act.  
  
Spot arose from the bed and closed the distance between them in a few strides, resting his hands around the girl's waist once he neared her and greeting her with a soft kiss on the forehead. "Happy Boithday," he said with a smirk.  
  
Dewey loved that smirk, thought it adorable how it fitted Spot and his cockiness excellently. But tonight, it only filled her with anger, for it seemed to her as if Spot thought this all a game, as if it was no big deal he had missed her big day. She gently nudged him back and stepped to the side to walk past him.  
  
A bit stunned by her reaction, he grabbed her wrist before she could get far and pulled her back to him. "What'sa mattah?"  
  
"You honestly don't know?" she threw at him with an incredulous look. His grip on her wrist was too tight but she wouldn't submit to him now. He was acting much too arrogantly. "Maybe the fact that practically all of New York was at Irving Hall today for my birthday except the person I wanted to see most!"  
  
Spot's thin lips formed a straight line and his eyes narrowed into a glare. When she put it like that, it made him sound like a forgetful jackass! Is that what she thought of him? He backed her up into a wall and brought his face within inches of her own. "Did it ever occur tah youse that maybe I aint one fer social events?" he hissed at her.  
  
She tried to struggle free but he was holding her down with strength out of her league. "Don't give me that bull! You always use to go to Medda's, but it seems like ever since we started going out, you don't want too many people knowing we're together!"  
  
"Maybe I don't!" he nearly yelled. "Maybe no one shoulda known 'bout it in da foist place!" He let go of her suddenly and spun around to walk the length of his room, combing his fingers through his hair in frustration. To be honest with himself, he thought it a mistake telling everyone across the state he was finally going steady.  
  
He was Spot Conlon, damnit! Spot Conlon didn't go steady! Spot Conlon was a womanizer for all time, the charming lady's man whose heart no one could steal. He was the legendary heartbreaker who could bed three different girls in one night and even go for a fourth if money was pulled into the equation. He was a conqueror and girls were the territory he wished to overcome. It was never a serious matter, for he had never had anyone worth being serious over.  
  
But then he had met Morning Dew and everything changed. She wasn't necessarily different from the others, for he had befriended the shy and rebellious alike, but she had a special aura about her that distinguished her in an unworldly way. She was sensitive and loving, but still had the heart to challenge him, and that was something he had never come across before. So when one thing led to another and the two had finally become a couple months later, Spot was terrified.  
  
Being with her meant giving up all the titles he had so diligently worked to receive. It meant trading in his infamous repertoire for a new road in life. It meant shelving his adolescent ways to become a man who allowed love to enter in. But what was love? His own parents, the very people who were supposed to love him unconditionally from birth and raise him into an upright citizen, had abandoned him as a child! From what was he to derive an essence of love when he didn't even know how to practice the art?  
  
He turned to face the girl, then, and noticed the key upon a cord that hung around her neck. He had presented it to her for their sixth anniversary and even that had taken strong will to do. It was like giving a part of himself away-Brooklyn, his newsies, and a chip of his soul all woven together into one. He had been so careful not to become too attached to anyone these past eighteen years, but now he felt his fortifications crumbling down into ruin.  
  
Dewey watched all this wordless contemplation from the wall and felt the inner warmth she had earlier harbored begin to freeze over. What was wrong with Spot? Why did he keep pushing her out of his life? He never wanted to spend enough time with her anymore and he was constantly claiming to be too busy for romantic dinners or simple dates that consisted of walks down the docks or through Central Park. Did he not care anymore? Had his feelings for her been washed away by the tides of some distress?  
  
"Spot..." She started to step towards him, but he turned his back on her and looked out the window of his room, lost in thought and perhaps hoping the stars would advise him on what to do next.  
  
He was utterly confused. He wanted Dewey so badly but he was more concerned for the pain he might endure later down the path that it kept him from delving too deep. What if she later decided he was not her type? What if she tired of him and chased after another? What if she simply stopped loving him one day? He didn't think he could ever recover from such rejection; he had fallen too hard for her.  
  
He'd never even utter those three little words that made a world of difference when spoken to the one for whom one's heart swelled. Dewey would say it often to him, but he'd only smile at her, indulge her with a kiss, or quickly change the subject. He knew he couldn't go through life thinking everyone he met would one day hurt him, but emotional pains were the only lessons he had learned growing up.  
  
A hand suavely fell onto his back then and he tensed when realizing that Dewey was right beside him, misunderstanding written all over her face. He knew he couldn't keep hurting her like this. She needed someone who would be open with his feelings, who wouldn't keep trying to keep her at bay for his own gutless reasons. That was, after all, why he hadn't gone to Irving Hall. He was too much of a coward to openly admit to all that he had indeed found someone who made him want to be a better man. He was a weakling without a backbone for being too afraid to show his admirers the other side of him, the side that was consumed with passion and zealous ardor.  
  
He faced his girl and breathed in her wonderful scent as he gazed into her eyes in efforts to find his answer there, but there was none to be given. He was on his own this time around and he'd have to make a choice that would change his life forever. Either spill all to Dewey and wish for the best, or keep his feelings bottled up and regret it for the entirety of his years.  
  
She spoke before his mind could process its decision. "Spot, listen. Today really meant a lot to me. When I moved here from New Jersey, I thought things would take a turn for the worse. But then I met you, and I just knew I had something to live for from now on." Her smile was a warm one, conveying complete honesty, but then it transitioned into sorrow. "And even though it sometimes seems like you feel the same way, things just don't work out the way they should. I love you, Spot...I really do, and..."  
  
"I have tah say somethin'," Spot interrupted her, placing a finger onto her lips to stop her words. She waited for his response, but he only stood there looking at her as if he weren't sure whether he wished to speak or not. Inside, though, Spot's emotions were a whirlwind of disorder. Love and Pride were battling each other in a bloody slaughter that he was trying to suppress. Thought were scurrying through his mind at haphazard speeds and his heart palpitated like a quickening drumbeat reverberating within his chest.  
  
He licked his lips in preparation for the confession, but the words died at the base of his throat. He couldn't do it. He couldn't lay down his pride like this. More than anything, he didn't know how.  
  
Dewey sighed when she saw the fire in his eyes die. For a moment, she had gotten her hopes up, but it was all in vain. She lowered her head as a tear trailed down her face and walked away from Spot with means to leave him be. He obviously wasn't in any mood to be in her company.  
  
Spot watched her go and felt as if his heart were going with her. He felt the invisible tendrils of his soul snap from her own and lash back at him violently, reprimanding him for his inability to be honest. He gripped the windowsill behind him and panicked. She was leaving him, the door was opening and she stepped into the hall ready to severe their relations. His anxiety increased and he wanted to scream out a song about his grief.  
  
But something happened then. An extraordinary ecstasy unleashed itself within Spot's body and began soaring through his insides like a newly-born phoenix, rising from the ashes of the dead into a child of fire. The feeling revived his aching heart and drilled a hope for tomorrow in his mind, willing him to not let love go. Spot saw Dewey's retreating figure and almost howled in distress when he realized what he was doing.  
  
"Dewey!" he cried out.  
  
The girl spun around, shocked by his loud exclamation. She would have rushed back into the room, but Spot jogged up to her and took her into his arms. His eyes were tearful and his chest moving furiously as his lungs breathed for air. He was near shaking while he held her, but he no longer cared whether or not he was meeting Brooklyn's standards.  
  
"Dewey," he said, bringing her closer. He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it soon after. You have to say it, damnit! He shouted at himself. Shifting his weight from one foot to another, he defeated every last ounce of doubt and poured his heart into the following words. "I love you." The words sounded strange to his ears but once he had released the emotion, he felt a heavy burden lift off his shoulders, leaving only him in the most vulnerable state he'd ever known.  
  
Dewey gaped at him, shocked at what he had said, and cried softly, the tears freefalling to the floor as she tried to control herself. She wrapped her arms around Spot's neck and hugged him tight, as if they were lovers who hadn't seen each other in ages. They remained in that embrace for what could have been hours until the girl pulled away. "Spot, you have no idea how long I've been waiting to hear you say that. At night, I'd even pray you'd say it, and I'd go to sleep dreaming that when I woke up the next morning, the words would come out of your mouth. But they never did...until now. And that's got to be the best birthday gift I've ever gotten!"  
  
They hugged again and Spot felt overwhelmed with joy as she whispered into his ear that she loved him too. He hoisted her into the air and spun her around, being empowered by the sound of her laughter and the look of adoration in her eyes. This was how things were always meant to be, he realized. He couldn't be Brooklyn for ever. One day, he'd have to destroy the name that carried with it so many wretched manners and Morning Dew was the girl who'd help him see that truth.  
  
He brought her down and traced his thumbs across her cheeks, drying away the tears she had shed. "Happy Boithday, goil," he said to her, resting his forehead against her own. Entangling his fingers with her curly hair, he grinned down at her and then pressed his lips against her own in a shattering kiss that sent electricity buzzing throughout their bodies. Spot lifted her into the air as she wrapped her legs around his waist and carried her into his room, kicking the door shut behind him.  
  
It was a birthday Morning Dew would always remember.  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
  
So that's my birthday fic. Please Review! Review Review Review! Love ya! ^_^ 


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